


Will you smile again?

by Saral_Hylor



Series: the mortar will hold. it's the bricks that are crumbling [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers is not fine, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-26 02:37:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2634902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saral_Hylor/pseuds/Saral_Hylor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It bothered Tony that he thought of their relationship in perspective of before that moment in the elevator and after it. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't delete that knowledge from his brain and go back to a time when he didn't look at Steve and see a victim. </p>
<p>It didn't matter how many times Steve said he was fine, Tony knew that he wasn't.</p>
<p>And he just wished there was a way he could make it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And you awake and there you are

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the third story in the Mortar/Bricks series. For a story that was supposed to just be one thing, and never get any further than just a one-shot, it has recently invaded my brain and taken over and I don't know where to stop. 
> 
> So far, I think I've got at least five more stories after this that are roughly hashed out. 
> 
> This story is going to have chapters, none of which will be overly long, as far as I've planned, but I don't know how long the story on a whole will be, I've written a bunch of stuff already, but have been cursed yet again with the inability to write things in chronological order. 
> 
> I'd like to thank quandong_crumble and LagLemon for listening to be go on and on about all the ideas for this story that have invaded my brain. 
> 
> Warnings and tags may change, depending on what else makes its way into this particular story.

It seemed like an achievement, like some sort of small victory to wake up with the room still dark and Steve still being in the bed. It didn't matter that he'd moved right to the very edge of the bed, putting as much space between them as possible. It didn't matter, because he was still there. And actually asleep. 

It was progress. 

Small, achingly slow baby steps, but it was still progress. 

Steve was frowning in his sleep, something that seemed to be a frequent occurrence from what Tony could gather, data collected from the few times he's seem Steve asleep. He was tempted to reach out, over the space between them, to try and comfort Steve, but he knew that an attempt at that would probably result in broken bones on his part. Instead, he shifted on the bed, enough to make the movement shudder through the mattress, and the effect was much safer. 

Steve jerked slightly, waking up frowning, deeper than he had been while he was asleep, eyes carefully surveying the room in the predawn dimness. Fists clenched around the sheets, his eyes finally settled on Tony, his expression smoothing out a split second later. 

"Morning." It was one word, but Tony felt like he was holding out some sort of peace offering. Ever since that moment in the elevator at S.H.I.E.L.D. he felt like he was dealing with a dangerous, wounded animal, rather than his boyfriend. Sure, it wasn't like Steve had changed since then. It was him. It was all on him, because after that moment, he _knew_. 

He couldn't just delete that kind of knowledge. Even if he wanted to. And he wanted to. Every time he knew he was looking at Steve and seeing a victim. Every time Steve caught him looking at him like that. Every time he wanted to ask Steve to talk about it, no matter how much Steve acted like he wanted to ignore what had happened. 

It wasn't like he could ever ask. It would be so hypocritical of him - so much so he wouldn't be able to ignore it - to make Steve talk about it, when he had his own ridiculously long list of thing he never wanted to talk about. But it was Steve. Not him. And he couldn't help but think that if he just knew more, if Steve would talk more, maybe he could fix him. 

Or at least, he wouldn't break him further. 

"Did you even sleep?" 

Steve was looking at him curiously, and he knew that he'd probably missed a fair portion of whatever Steve had said before that. 

"Yeah, how about you? Sleep? Well?" He wanted to reach across the space between them, touch Steve's sleep rumpled hair, smooth his hand across his shoulders. He just wanted to be able to touch him and not worry about the things that made Steve think about. But how could he, knowing that there were memories lurking just below the surface, hidden beneath a layer of denial and a repetitive chant of _I'm fine._

Steve shifted on the bed, moving closer until there was only a foot of space between them. He wasn't smiling, but there was something shy and hopeful in the quirk of his eyebrows and the way his eyes widened. "Yeah, I did. I like - it's a good bed you've got here." 

He felt like there was something there going unsaid, something that Steve wasn't ready to say yet. Something he really wanted to hear, regardless. "Welcome here any time, Cap." 

Steve's lips twitched into a smile. It should have meant everything was okay, but like every other smile he'd seen the soldier give, there was something missing. The mattress dipped as Steve pushed himself up, starting to retreat out of the bed, and Tony couldn't help but extend one hand out across the bed, palm facing up and fingers relaxed. It was an invitation to stay. A request for permission to touch. An offer of comfort. He didn't even know what it meant or didn't mean, he just wanted the space where the arc reactor used to be to stop aching at the thought that he'd done something wrong to make Steve back away. 

Steve paused, "I'm going to go for my run. Meet me for breakfast in a few hours?" 

He was going to brush of breakfast with his usual disregard, mostly because he liked the way that Steve would frown at him with concerned disapproval, but he only found himself nodding in mute agreement. Because the moment he'd been about to say anything, Steve had ducked back down and pressed a kiss to the crease between the heel of his hand and his wrist. 

It was simple, quick, Steve had slipped out of the bed and was out the door before he could even catch up with that had happened. 

The skin at the top of his wrist tingled. He tried to ignore the way that the ache in his chest started to morph into something much more painful and dangerous. Hope. 


	2. And just how long did it take for you to understand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to add in the first chapter that it title and chapter titles come from the song _Will You Smile Again?_ originally by _...And You'll Know Us by the Trail of the Dead_. I don't know their version. I've been listening to the live cover of it done by _The Dresden Dolls_. 
> 
> Have finished this story now. Thanks to [quandong_crumble](http://archiveofourown.org/users/quandong_crumble/pseuds/quandong_crumble) for the read through and the support. Thanks to LagLemon for being enthusiastic about this story getting posted. 
> 
> Chapter 3 will be up shortly, since this is so short. Just got to get the editing done. :D

He loved him. That in itself was a terrifying realisation. He'd even said it. In a round about kind of way. And Steve had said it back. Or at least something to that effect. 

It might have been on the way to love, or emotions close to it, prior to the elevator. It had become love after that. It bothered him that he thought of their relationship in perspective of before the elevator and after it. BE and AE. Not that he'd ever admit that to Steve. There was a nasty voice in the back of his mind that liked to remind him how fucked up it was that he loved Steve more after finding out that he wasn't perfect. That he was flawed and broken and it wasn't even his fault. It was messed up and wrong and he wished it wasn't true.

But it was. He wanted to make Steve smile. Wanted to put him back into one piece and hold him together. Wanted to protect him and make him actually be fine, not just pretending his was. 


	3. Remember all the bad dreams, are not far from reality

Breakfast was good. It felt almost normal. JARVIS let him know when Steve had arrived back at the tower, and it was easy to make his way out of his workshop, coffee mug in hand and perfectly timed so that he was there just as Steve started cooking breakfast. Clint and Natasha slipped in not long after and Tony couldn't help but make comments about family breakfast. Steve had halfheartedly glared at him when Clint had chimed in that it was only family breakfast because he and Steve were mum and dad. But there was something there, when Steve's eyes relaxed again and for a split second he looked content, almost happy. 

And then he did something and ruined it all. 

He hadn't meant to. He'd just brushed past Steve too closely when he'd gotten up to refill his coffee mug.

He knew he'd done the wrong thing immediately. Steve's whole body tensed, shoulders rigid and he jerked forward slightly, enough that Natasha and Clint both stopped eating and watched them, eyes cataloging all the details. 

Tony stumbled back a step, putting more space between them, apologies on the tip of his tongue when Steve turned in his seat to look at him, and the expression on Steve's face made everything stop. 

He looked like he thought he was the one in the wrong. The slight panic, the apologetic sad look in his eyes was almost heart breaking. 

"Steve," Tony started, fingers clenched around the coffee mug in his hands so that he wasn't tempted to reach out and try and comfort the other man. His chest ached, the pain clawing up into his throat and he felt like he was almost at the point of doing or saying something that he'd regret later when Steve looked away from him again, shaking his head and ducking his chin like he was ashamed. It only made him want to say something even more, but Natasha and Clint were there and he doubted Steve wanted them to know anything. 

"I'm going to go down to the gym. Didn't finish my workout." Steve stood up, collected up his breakfast dishes and took them as far to the sink before disappearing out of the kitchen. No doubt chased by the memories that Tony had made resurface again. 

Natasha looked pointedly at the dishes on the sink and then glanced back at Tony where he stood glued to the spot watching the doorway that Steve had disappeared through. Even without her saying anything he knew she had a point. Things were really wrong if Steve Rogers left the kitchen without cleaning up after himself. 

He swallowed, felt his hands trembling around the coffee mug that he held so tightly and he finally let himself look at Clint and Natasha properly, met their questioning gazes and he knew that there was no way he could give them the answers.

He didn't even know them himself.


	4. Close the door and drift away

Steve didn’t look around from where he was laying into the punching bag. He didn’t even acknowledge the tentative call of his name as Tony took a few careful steps closer. There was pain clenching tight in his chest, the same way it had in the kitchen and all he could think as he looked at the tension in Steve’s shoulders and the overt anger in each punch was that he’d caused it. It was his fault. No matter how he looked at it, he’d been careless and gotten too close when he should have known better. The hope from that morning, from that one simple kiss, had been a dangerous thing, burning and growing and trying to flourish into something that he never should have allowed it to be.

It felt like forever before Steve stopped, his body going unnaturally still, but he didn’t turn around. “What do you want, Tony?”

What did he want? He wanted Steve. He wanted him to be okay. He wanted to see him smiling and looking happy. He wanted to be able to hold him close whenever he got that haunted look and not have to worry about making things worse. He wanted to go back in time and stop it from ever happening. He wanted Steve to look at him and not hold back the things he wanted to do and say. He wanted to go to sleep every night with Steve in his bed and wake up every morning with him still there. He wanted to nightmares to stop; both of theirs.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

He wanted and wanted and wanted but he knew they were all things he’d never get to have. Because Tony Stark didn’t get to have nice things. He didn’t even get give up everything else to make sure Steve would be happy.

Steve’s body tensed for a moment before his hands dropped down to his side, the wrappings around his hands had started to tinge pink across his knuckles the sight of it making the bottom fall out of Tony’s stomach. He took a step closer, instinctively wanting to reach out and take Steve’s hand in his to survey the damage. All he could think about was the call from Natasha when he’d been away on business and coming home to seeing Steve bruised and edgy.

“Don’t touch me!” Steve jerked away from him, arms pulling across his chest and shoulders drawn in. It wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t even defensive. It was like Steve was trying to restrain himself, trying to stop himself from lashing out and drawing farther and farther away in order to achieve it. His voice was strained, pained and desperate and despite it being unsaid, there was a definite note of _please_ to it.

Tony stopped, his chest ached and words choked in his throat because he just didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t anything he could say that would make a difference, he was sure of it. Steve wouldn’t hear it if he tried to convince him that it wasn’t his fault, that it was Tony’s fault; that he shouldn’t have gotten so close.

“Do you want –? I’ll just go. Workshop. Things to do, you know. I’ll see you later?” They weren’t the words that he wanted to say, and every last scrap of decency in him was screaming at him as he backed up towards the door. He should stay, should just wait it out and see if Steve was going to be okay, should just _be there_ but there were demons and memories from the past wrapped too tightly around Steve and he just didn’t know how to make it better. He didn’t know how to fix it. How to fix Steve and make everything that haunted him just go away.

And what was the good of genius, billionaire Tony Stark if he couldn’t fix things?


	5. All your hopes and dreams have faded out of reach

Pepper’s face appeared on the screen when he let JARVIS connect the call, her eyes bright and smile ready. It faded quickly, replaced with concern and a crease to her forehead that he knew was especially reserved for when she was worried about him. 

Glancing briefly back around the workshop, the parts of the suit strewn all over the place, the half empty bottle of scotch, he guessed that look was probably warranted. It didn’t make him feel any better for having put it there. 

“Tony,” Pepper started voice soft and so full of concern, a painful reminder of how much he still missed her, even after everything. “Are you okay?” 

He wanted to shake his head, to tell her straight out that he didn’t know what he was doing, that every time he said or did something he was worried that everything would fall apart. But he couldn’t. She didn’t know what he knew about Steve, and it wasn’t his to tell. Not in full. He was sure that if he did, she’d have all the right things to say, something practical to reassure him with. Pepper Potts would have been able to handle the knowledge far better than he could. But he couldn’t tell her. So he didn’t shake his head, he just shrugged and looked away. “Pep, there’s this –” _person_ “– thing. It should have been unbreakable. But it wasn’t. Someone broke it, and I need to fix it. I have to, because I can’t go back and stop it from getting broken, but I can’t just leave it broken. I can’t stand to see him like this, but I don’t know what to do. Pepper, what do I do? I have to fix him, but I don’t know how.” 

When he looked back at the screen Pepper was looking at him, really looking at him, like he was the entire reason for the call, like she’s called only to listen to him rambling and not for whatever reason she’d originally called for. She looked like she wanted to hug him, and part of him wanted that, but most of him was glad that she was on the opposite side of the country because he didn’t know if he’d survive that sort of caring affection. 

Pepper opened her mouth once, then closed it again, the way she always did when she stopped herself from saying what she was really thinking. She pushed her hair back off her forehead, tucking it to one side with careful fingers, and shook her head ever so slightly. “You’re a genius, Tony, and one of the best people that I know. If there is a way to put him back together again, you’ll find it. But you don’t have to do it all on your own.” 

It was only after they’d disconnected the call that he realised, despite all his ambiguity, she’d known that he’d been talking about Steve. 


	6. Would you write again for me?

The sight of the scotch bottle just made him feel sick every time he looked at it after Pepper had hung up. He could feel the alcohol solidifying into a heavy weight in his stomach. The slight burn it left in his veins that had been a comfort before started to feel like bugs crawling through his blood stream. There was still part of him that just wanted to take another mouthful, to try and wash away the disgust and keep drinking until he forgot the way that Steve had flinched away from him. Until he forgot the tone of Steve’s voice in the gym, how broken and desperately sorry he’d sounded even though there was absolutely nothing he’d done wrong. Until he forgot the way Steve had looked at him that morning, the warmth that had built in his chest when he’d woken up and Steve was still there. The way Steve’s lips had brushed against his skin without any prompting at all. He wanted to forget it, to make it stop hurting. 

But there was one thing he couldn’t forget, one thing that never went away. The comment Steve had made once, BE, about how the smell of alcohol on someone made him feel sick. It wasn’t hard to work out why. 

He didn’t realise he’d said anything out loud until Dummy had dumped the bottle into the sink with a loud clang of glass against stainless steel. It was almost disappointing that he hadn’t heard it break. 

He showered, scrubbed himself until his skin was red and brushed his teeth until they felt loose in his gums, until he couldn’t smell the scotch on himself anymore, until the self-disgust had started to simmer down again. Until he was rational enough to know that he would never be able to help Steve put himself back together again if he was falling apart himself. 

There was a message on him phone, sent several hours prior, and it was only as he read it that he realised how late it had gotten. Hours had slipped past without him even noticing, he’d missed lunch, and dinner, and one message from Steve. One simple line that made the feeling of hope build up in his chest again, despite everything. 

_You know, you’re welcome in your own bed anytime too._

He had JARVIS save the suit schematics he was working on, shut off the lights and lock down his workshop once he left. In the elevator he was all too aware that even after his shower he smelt too much like solder and grease, but it wasn’t scotch. 

His room was dark when he got there, and for a moment he thought that Steve wasn’t even there, that he message had just been a subtle hint that he should sleep, but JARVIS illuminated the room just enough that he wouldn’t trip over anything on the way to his bed. Steve lie on his side, facing into the centre of the bed, his back to the wall away from the door, just as he had been that morning. He was asleep, frowning slightly, with one hand tucked under his chin, the other extended across the bed, palm facing up, fingered curled slightly. He looked so peaceful, even with the way his eyebrows were drawn together, that Tony couldn’t stop staring at him, heart thudding against his ribs, because Steve was there, in his bed, under his own steam, and it had to mean progress. More tiny, slow baby steps, but progress all the same. 

It was then that he noticed the blue biro markings on the inside of Steve’s wrist, in the location that matched the place he’d pressed his lips to Tony’s wrist that morning. 

Two simple words. 

_I’m sorry._

Inside his chest, Tony felt his heart break. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks!


End file.
